


Unexpected Happenstances

by Chess_Blackfyre



Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Fluff, non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre
Summary: The first time Galahad and Saint see each other naked, it's not in a context that you might expect. It's also not even at the same time.
Relationships: CT-4077 | Saint/Galahad Dulak, Original Clone Trooper Character(s)/Original Jedi Character(s)
Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664269
Comments: 23
Kudos: 53





	1. Know When to Hold 'Em

“Is this really necessary?” Potts sighed. “I feel fine.”

“Considering that acklay nearly bit your arm off, sir, yes. Yes it is.” Honeycut was staying firm in the face of his superior officer. He was putting on his best ‘don’t make me get the restraints’ look.

“And that ‘fine’ you’re feeling is probably the combination of bacta fumes and painkillers,” Galahad added, looking over his chart. “Just a quick overnight here in the medbay, then you’ll be back to the barracks, Potts, I promise.”

With a huff universal to all those who hate staying and healing when they ought to, Potts leaned back on the bed and settled himself onto the pillow. Galahad smiled to herself. See, there was one 

“You know, Major,” Honeycut mused, “the rest of Gold Squadron has a sabacc game going on tonight. With sarge in medbay, we have an extra seat open if you’re interested.”

Galahad smiled. “I’m definitely interested, but,” she glanced over to the officer who was now resigning himself to a night of bedrest. 

Potts shrugged, then winced at moving his shoulder. “I formally disavow any knowledge of gambling in my unit. Now go have fun.”

* * *

Gold Squadron was gathered in one of the Republic Cruiser’s many small rec rooms. Saint was helping one of his other brothers, Dinadon, set up the card table in the corner. Sabacc night had become something of a tradition for the squad, a way to bond, not to mention gaining or losing different trinkets and treats. 

He heard the door slide open. “Hey Honeycut, we’re almost ready to go. How’s the sarge?”

“He’s doing better, but still definitely needs a night of bed rest.” That was definitely not Honeycut’s voice.

“Baar’ur,” Saint blinked. “What are you doing here?” Kriff, that probably came out wrong.

“Playing sabacc, apparently,” the Jedi smiled, and an eager Radar directed her over to the small card table. Saint pulled out one of the chairs he’d just finished setting up, ignoring some of the looks his other brothers shot their way. 

Dinadon started shuffling the cards fancy. Apparently he’d picked up a few tricks from one of the 79’s waitresses who’d worked in a Nar Shaddaa casino. “An empath and a telekinetic playing a game that depends on bluffing and random draw…”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I could offer you a sacred Jedi pinky-swear if it’ll make you feel better.”

A round of chuckles around the table. “Nah, I’ll take your word for it.”

While it wasn’t time to place their bets yet, everyone in Gold Squadron had their offerings out on the table. Saint suddenly felt his cheeks burn at the thought of spending the rest of the night sitting next to Du--the Major. He quickly pressed the feeling down--very far down.

“If you need a buy-in, major, I’d be fine with lending you something.” Radar eagerly pipped up. He was like a yipping akk pup looking for attention, in Saint’s opinion. 

A magnanimous smile. “Thank you, but I came prepared.” Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a large bag of--candy? One he hadn’t seen before. “Alderaan butterscotch.” The Jedi explained, opening up the packet and placing some of the small, golden, individually wrapped tablets in front of her on the table.

Gold Squadron exchanged looks at each other. Even if this ‘butterscotch’ ended up not being to their taste, the newness of it makes it valuable in and of itself. Tristan looked like he was considering snagging one with no one was looking. 

“Have you ever played sabacc before, Baar’ur?” Saint asked.

A shrug. “I know the Zeltron version. Don’t know how different it is, though."

“I’m sensing a story here,” Dinadon smiled, starting to deal. Saint glanced down at his cards. Not bad. 

Gal chuckled. “A few years ago, Vos, Secura and I spent two weeks stuck on a show ship back to Coruscant. You meet lots of interesting people on a pleasure barge.”

“Wait, as in General Secura?” Tristan piped up. “Leader of the 327th?”

“The one and only” Galahad smiles, accepting her cards. “Although she was Padawan Secura back then.”

“Our general as a cadet?” Kickback smirked. “Now you have to tell us.”

She smiled and chuckled. “Okay, but forgive me if I’m not the best storyteller.” All the cards were dealt, she glanced down at hers for a few seconds.“So, it all started when the Council sent the three of us out on a relief mission together…”

* * *

“...so Vos turns to the Rodian and said: ‘we’ll let this go if you will’. And walked away.”

The Squadron bursts into fits of laughter, ranging from chortles to knee slaps. Dinadon in particular seemed to be clutching his sides, tears burning at the corner of his eyes.

“That is--amazing!”

“She should come every week.”

“I loved the part about the Trandoshan.”

“I know, surprisingly good tattoo artist,” Tristan agreed, looking over the Jedi’s half-sleeve. The laughter turned to snorts, and before long Gold Squadron had settled themselves back down.

“Alright, it’s my deal,” Monkey-Wrench started shuffling the cards. “Who’s in?”

“Pass.”

“Out.”

“Not it.”

“Out. I’ve lost more than enough candy already,” Galahad leaned back in her chair. That really didn’t bother her, in fact, she’d even managed to snag one of Saint’s sketches and some of Radar’s chewstim. She wasn't about to risk giving either of them up.

“Deal me in,” Saint popped one butterscotch in his mouth, and pressed the rest of his golden winnings into the pot. “I’ve figured out your tells.”

“Oh, have you?” Monkey-Wrench smirked. “This should be good.”

* * *

“Not a word, vod.”

“I tried to warn you, Saint.”

Radar broke first, then the Jedi followed him in the fit of barely-contained chuckles. Saint was sitting at the table in nothing but his decanting suit, his own pectoral tattoo on full display. Among other things.

“Nice ink,” Galahad complimented, before obligingly turning away. Not that it mattered, really, as she’d already gotten an eyeful of his deecee while he was stripping. Saint appreciated the gesture anyway.

Then, he opened the door, and as dignified as he could, started the sprint back to barracks.

* * *

“What. The. _Fuck._ Monkey-Wrench?” Saint demanded when the rest of the squad filed in, already back in his blacks.

“Just wanted to make sure your _baar’ur_ got a good look at the merchandise,” he responded, throwing the set of clothes back in Saint’s face before opening up a butterscotch. One of his many winnings that night.

“She’s not my--ugh.” He decided to just take his clothes back and hope that the ribbing wouldn’t be too bad next morning. 

* * *

“I am _never_ playing sabacc again,” Saint groaned into his breakfast the next morning. It seemed that almost every brother that saw him that night had told every single other person they knew. Never before had Saint regretted his distinctive bleached curls more than when ever person who saw him that morning was clearly laughing at him. If only in their minds. But normally openly.

“Well, I certainly had fun,” Gal smiled, ignoring the fact that they were both eating tasteless nutrient paste.

“Please, don’t. I do _not_ need any help embarrassing myself in front of you.”

A comforting pat on his forearm. “You were blushing, it was adorable.”

Another round of chuckles from the next table over, and all the trooper could do was bury his head in his hands and groan.


	2. Hold Back the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Saint saw Galahad naked, he was more concerned about making sure she didn’t freeze to death than anything else.

They were on patrol when it happened. This part of the planet was in their winter season, a thick blanket of snow and cold over everything. It was Saint’s first time in the cold-assault gear, and he’d only managed to replicate his paint job on the snowy-white armor last night. Major Dulak was similarly dressed for the weather, with a thick coat instead of her green jacket, and her usual scarf replaced with a thick wool muffler wrapped around the lower half of her face, and a hat flattening down her usual bun.

They were crossing over a frozen riverbank--Saint, Baar’ur, Tristan, and a brother so shiny he hadn’t even picked a name yet. 3315. They were supposed to rendezvous with the rest of Gold Squadron on the other side before heading back to base camp. They were about halfway across when the medic paused. “We need to move. Quickly.”

She started to pick up the pace into a light jog. The two senior troopers take her words at face value, but the shiny hesitates.

“What, why?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Uh-oh. Saint had a vague at best understanding of how the Force worked, but he did know that a Jedi’s bad feelings were to be taken seriously. Fifteen did not. 

“Ice looks thick enough to me,” he mumbled. As if out of spite, or the universe’s sense of dramatic irony, that was when they heard a loud and ominous ‘crack’. 

“MOVE YOUR SHEBS!” Saint orders as everyone broke into a sprint. They were only a few yards away from the other side. They would make could.

He didn’t dare look behind him, but he could imagine the cracks ringing all around him were following in their footsteps. 

Tristan and Saint get to the other side first, with Baar’ur close behind. But Fifteen? With a large crash, a scream, and a splash, the young trooper fell beneath the ice.

Before anyone else could move, Galahad started stripping. Jacket, hat, and coat deposited in the snow in the space of five seconds. She grabbed something from her belt and dove in after him. Saint both admired and hated the Jedi’s bravery.

“The hell is she doing?” Tristan asks, and Saint can’t find the words to respond. Can barely think to breathe as he soon lost sight of her in the dark water below.

He put down his deecee next to his discarded coat. Even with winter gear, he knew he could get out of his armor in less than two minutes. It was one of those monotonous drills on Kamino he was suddenly very, _very_ glad for.

“The hell are you--”

“I’m going in after her.”

“ _Don’t_. That’s an order.” He turned. Sargent Potts and the rest of Gold Squadron. At least they were at the right rendezvous point. He looked back to the hole in the ice. 

Galahad still hadn’t surfaced.

Saint’s hand hovered over his vambrace, trying and failing to convince himself to obey his CO. The two heads breaking up through the water was the only thing that stopped him.

The Jedi hands the deadweight of the shiny over to Honeycut, the squad’s official medic, before allowing them to help her out. In her mouth is a A99 aquata breather. Standard issue gear for Jedi, he distantly remembered.

“Take his bucket off,” she orders. The term is appropriate, as water sloshes out of the helmet. Their gear was supposed to be weather and waterproof, but apparently couldn’t be swapped out for the aquatic assault armor in a pinch. Fifteen’s head flopped back into the snow, eyes closed, mouth falling open.

“His pulse is weak, but it’s there,” Honeycut informed.

“Good.” She kneeled by Fifteen’s side, her wet hair starting to freeze in the cold. She pushes it out of her face, and places her palm over his chest. Saint picks his deecee back up, along with her hat, coat, and scarf. Tries to shake some of the snow off.

“Should we start chest compressions?”

Baar’ur shook her head. She breathes, and closes her eyes. 

“What are you—“

He stops. Saint notices the...blob. Coming out of Fifteen’s mouth. Baar’ur slowly draws her hand up his chest, resting at the clone’s collarbone. She’s using her telekinesis to draw the excess water out of his lungs, letting them hang in the air before them, watching it freeze. Fifteen coughs, and the balls of ice drop to the ground. Baar’ur smiles.

“Get him out of his b-blacks,” Uh-oh. “Re-remove all wet clothes. B-be gentle. Don’t ja-ja-jostle him too much. Blankets. Wa-warm compresses.”

Saint, steps forward, and eyes his brother Monkey-Wrench on the speeder bike. Monkey Wrench nods back, understanding.

“What about you?” Honeycut asked. Saint slips 

“I’ll—“

“Probably catch it too if you don’t follow your own advice,” the trooper reminded. Before Galahad could even object, the medic turned away. “Saint, take the major back to base camp. Make sure our Jedi doesn’t freeze to death.”

“Sir yes sir!” Shoving the hat and scarf back on and wrapping her in the coat, the trooper gathered the shivering woman into a proper fireman’s carry. He gently placed her in front of him on the speeder bike before speeding off to camp. Behind them, they were probably going to be doing the same thing

* * *

The treatment for the onset of hypothermia is the same, Jedi or no Jedi. Strip down, crawl in, and start the skin contact. The medics at the encampment gave Saint orders as such, all but shoving him and Galahad into the small supply room to do so. 

Saint dutifully keeps his back turned as she starts undressing, laying out the thermal blanket on the floor first, then layering the wool blankets on top. Another gift from AgriCorps, as apparently many animals that are used for their milk can also be used for their fur. A rather novel idea to someone who had grown up in the sterile facilities above an ocean world.

He chanced a look back. Baar’ur was still trying to take her clothes off. ‘Trying’ being the operative word there. She had been able to get off her tunic and leggings, but by the time she was down to her underclothes, but was having trouble with the...binding? Saint forgot the proper term, the thing she wore to keep her breasts secured. 

Swallowing down his nerves, the soldier asked if she needed any help. Reluctantly, the medic let him. He pulled the wet undergarment up off of her, folded it and placed it next to her other clothes, all the while trying not to look directly at what was directly in front of him.

Cue the realization that he was still in armor.

“Hey, why don’t you settle in? I just need to, uh…” he wasn’t sure how to end that thought. The Jedi just smiled, and gave him her back as she settled into the small nest of blankets.

True to his word, Saint would be quick. All troopers had been trained to be up, armored, and out the door in under two minutes. The enemy wasn’t going to wait for you, the instructors had drilled. In less than one, he was down to his blacks. In less than that, Saint was standing in the small supply room in nothing but his shorts. He was about to strip out of those as well when he paused.

He glanced over, thought about it for a second, and decided to keep them on. Not like that particular patch of skin would make much of a difference. Besides making things awkward, that is.

Properly geared, Saint steeled himself like he would for battle. Wait, no, bad analogy. Battle he knew. This...this was completely different. But he knew what Baar’ur would do, and she’d be gentle. So, gentle he’d be.

Settling down himself, he found a comfortable position then pulled the blankets over them. The medic was practically ice underneath his hands as he pulled her against him. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she slurred, pressing her cheek against his chest. “It’s—bad. Can’t fall asleep.”

“Okay, okay, uh…” _kriff what do I talk about_. He spied the geometric lines and dots that were inked into her right arm. “Your tattoo sleeve is interesting. What does it mean?”

“Long story.”

_Okay, maybe don’t make her talk._

“The—sun.” She tapped his right pectoral. “Story?” She tried.

“It’s—“ a representation of a childhood wish that came true. He swallowed. “Archer did it.”

“Tha’s nice…” her head slumped over, and her eyes lost the fight to stay open.

“Hey, hey,” Saint encouraged, running a hand against her back, “c’mon don’t you wanna hear about how I had to have to hold someone's hand?"

“You--worried about me?” She tried to smile.

“Of course I was worried. I’m always worried.” The confession slipped past his lips.

Galahad made a sound of curious acknowledgement. “When you didn’t come up—I was terrified.” He admitted, whispering it into her hair. “I thought I’d lost you.” For one long, insane moment, he wanted to plant a kiss there. “You’d be hard to replace, baar’ur.”

Silence. More silence. The longer it stretches, the more Saint wants to be the one plunged into the icy, dark waters. Except, never to emerge. Doing everyone a favor with that, really.

“J-just gonna...slip int’a healing trance, if that’s alright.”

“Uh...sure?”

Giving him that out, Galahad stilled once more, but there was a growing warmth underneath her skin that reassured him. So Saint lay there, cuddling with a half-frozen Jedi, and desperately trying not to think about the fact that he saw her boobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint, internally: Oh krif, oh kark, what in the Light did I just say she's gonna think I'm weird. Kark kark kark kark kark. 
> 
> Galahad, meanwhile: Don't try to touch his butt, don't try to touch his butt, don't try to touch his butt.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little story o'mine! Credit to this idea goes to 5wheelz on tumblr! Who gave me this prompt actual months ago...


End file.
